


Bakery or Not

by surlybobbies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Bakery Shop Owner Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Minor Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29082834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: “Cas, you’re the one out front all the time; who’s to say those ladies ain’t thirsty for you?”Cas had been on his feet all day. He collapsed into a chair. “I’m not gifted with charm, Dean. If anything, my lack of social skills are chasing customers away.”Dean was guzzling water, leaning against the counter. He wiped his mouth and gave Cas a once-over. “You kidding? Ladies love the broody and mysterious schtick. I’d be here every day if I got to see you.”There’d been no hesitation in Dean’s words. Cas bit down on a pleased smile. “Don’t tell me you’ve only been coming in to your own business to see me."“Well, no, but waking up at 3AM is easier when I have a hot assistant.”When Cas looked at him, surprised, Dean was looking away with a nervous swallow.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 33
Kudos: 388





	Bakery or Not

**Author's Note:**

> A few disclaimers/notes: I know very little about baking, and nothing at all about running a bakery. Also, Claire isn't related to Cas at all here; she was adopted by Jody.
> 
> This was supposed to be for the DeanCas Midwinter 5K Tropefest, but I didn't finish it in time... but that's fine, as now it's had a bit over two weeks to be tweaked.
> 
> Many thanks to Jenny (envydean) for beta-ing it, especially the bits where I had to use the past perfect tense. Jesus, I hate the past perfect tense.

The installation of all the kitchen equipment took the better part of two weeks.

“Yeah, not to mention the thousands of dollars it’s taking from my bank account,” Dean said when Cas brought it up. He scratched his cheek and sighed wearily. “Not sure I’m gonna survive this, Cas.”

Cas put a bracing hand on Dean’s shoulder. They were standing at the shopfront, looking at the glass door, freshly etched with Winchester Bakery’s logo. “You’ve looked at the numbers a dozen times, Dean,” Cas said. “Sam and I looked at them with you. Even the bank looked at them. You’ll be fine.”

Dean looked again at the papers he was clutching. “I know what the numbers said, Cas, but these numbers are real. And they’re _big_.”

The numbers on the invoices were indeed big, frightfully so, but Cas refused to feed Dean’s fears. “The best we can do right now is to make sure the opening’s successful. No use worrying about what’s already done. Let’s direct our attention to preparations instead.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, like that’s going any better. I’m not even sure Claire’s going to make it in time for the opening,” he said. He’d recruited Claire to work for him for the summer, but she was struggling to work out her schedule.

“I’m sure you can find others to help while she’s sorting things out.”

“No one I trust,” Dean said sullenly. He rubbed a piece of imaginary dirt off the window. “I can’t hire just anyone, Cas.”

“Then hire me,” Cas said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “You already have a job.”

Cas smiled. “What if I use my vacation days?”

Dean finally turned to Cas, but only to give him a skeptical look. “Cas, it’s not a vacation if you’re working somewhere else.”

“It’s a vacation if I’m spending it with the people I care about,” Cas corrected. “And luckily for you, you count.”

Dean shook his head. “Appreciate it, dude, but I can’t let you do that.”

“Too late. I have two weeks starting next Thursday.” It gave him two days to help Dean before the opening on Saturday.

Dean stared. A flush was spreading up his jaw. “What do you mean you have two weeks?”

“I used my vacation days,” Cas said simply. He enjoyed the dumbfounded look on Dean’s face.

“Well, y—you need a food safety certificate, Cas.”

“Oh, that thing?” Cas asked. “I got it last week.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his chin. His throat bobbed. “Well,” he said. “I—I’m not sure how much you think you’ll be making—”

Cas stopped him with a hand to the elbow. “I’m volunteering, Dean,” he explained. The concept that he needed to be paid to spend time with his best friend, to help his best friend, to be there for his best friend at a momentous occasion in his life, was absurd. “Supporting my local businesses, as they say.”

Dean laughed in disbelief. “You’re serious.”

“Nothing would make me happier than to help you open your business,” Cas said. Not one word was a lie.

Dean scrubbed at an eye. He shook his head. “I don’t deserve any of this,” he said.

Cas was about to reply, but Dean was hooking an arm around Cas’s neck and leading them down the block before Cas could manage it. 

“Let’s go,” Dean said, crushing the invoices in his jacket pocket. 

“Where?” Dean’s arm was a comforting weight around Cas’s shoulders.

Dean was trying to bite down on a grin but not quite managing it. “To buy my best friend a beer while I can still afford it.”

They’d met four years before through Eileen. She and Cas had gone to school together, and when Cas had first moved to the city, he’d ended up running into her and Sam at a cooking class. It had been the couple’s third date. Sam, probably wanting to make a good impression, had invited Cas to his birthday barbecue, and Cas, not wanting to appear rude, had accepted.

The barbecue had been hosted at a quaint little house that Sam had been renting with his brother Dean.

Cas would learn later that it had only been a few months since John Winchester’s death, and that the barbecue was the family’s first big celebration without him. Dean had been distracted all night—Cas had only noticed because Dean was (and had since remained) magnetizing—but at some point Dean had noticed Cas and passed him a beer. Then he’d made small talk and grinned like he’d found a treasure worth keeping when Cas handed him another drink from the cooler. 

Dean had been a different person then, however—more sullen, more prone to long bouts of silence. 

“I hated my dad,” he had eventually explained a few months later to Cas. “But he was my dad. And I didn’t know that I could be relieved he was dead and still grieve at the same time. So I just kept my mouth shut and didn’t think about it. Took me forever to even start feeling better.”

“Time helps,” Cas had said, unsure of what else to say.

Dean had taken over as Cas’s informal cooking instructor for a time, so they’d been spending a lot of time in Dean’s kitchen. He had smiled then, a little melancholy, as he watched Cas chop an onion. Then he’d said, “Yeah, time helped. But you being around helped too.” It had been the first time he’d said anything of the kind to Cas.

Cas had been too touched to reply at the time, so he kept chopping. He’d blamed his teary eyes on the onions.

The days leading up to the bakery’s opening were a flurry of buying, baking, and frustration. Dean’s recipes had to be tweaked for the new equipment, and it required a lot of testing. Cas, newly freed from his responsibilities at work, became the tester by default.

“This lemon bar tastes just as good as the last one,” Cas said, head in hands. He was stuffed full of pastries already, and it was only 11AM. “Remind me why you can’t taste them yourself?”

Dean was examining the crumb of the lemon bar, holding it up to the light. “We’d never open if I tasted them. I need an impartial judge.”

Cas dug his palms into his eyes and snorted; he could never be impartial when it came to Dean. “They’re fine,” he mumbled, groggy from overindulgence. “They’re wonderful, so please, no more.” He was seated at a small plastic table Dean had set up in the kitchen, and the heat in the kitchen was making his shirt stick to his back with sweat.

Dean’s soft sigh made Cas look up. Dean had put down the lemon bar and was staring down at the shortbread dough in front of him, looking lost. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m going overboard. And I’m exhausted.”

“I’m not surprised,” Cas said gently, regretting his lack of patience and stomach space. “You were up past midnight last night.”

“So were you.”

They’d both been up putting the last touches on decor. Dean hadn’t wanted anything fancy, but Cas had convinced him to liven up the light blue walls with indoor palms in the corners and potted succulents on the windowsills. 

Dean’s only insistence regarding decor was that they hang up pictures of his family. “Ain’t Winchester Bakery without these people,” he’d said, handing Cas a box of framed photos.

In the end they’d hung up about half a dozen in total, all along the side wall. Cas was in two of them: a group photo with Dean’s extended family, taken at Christmas a few years back; and a photo of just Dean and Cas—dressed in suits, arms around each other’s torsos, smiling at the camera during Sam’s wedding reception.

Cas hadn’t said anything when Dean had put it up, too moved to speak, and all Dean had done to acknowledge the moment was to pat Cas once on the shoulder before taking the empty box into the back.

Cas thought of the smile on Dean’s face on that night and decided he wanted to see it again. “I think we both need to take a break,” he said, getting up from his little plastic table. “You from baking, me from eating.”

“I don’t know if I have time to take a break,” Dean muttered. He looked at the clock on the wall. “I still need to start on the croissants.”

“The world won’t end if you don’t have croissants on your first day,” Cas said, joining Dean at the counter. The shortbread dough had already been rolled out to the perfect thickness. Cas had watched Dean do it while the lemon bars were baking.

“Why does it feel like it might?” Dean asked, voice raw, his palms braced on the counter.

Cas put a hand on Dean’s back. “Two hours,” he said. “Just a two-hour break, that’s all.”

Dean met Cas’s gaze, frowning, eyes tired. After a while he gave in. “Fine,” he said. He reached for the plastic wrap. “Two hours.”

Cas helped him unstick the plastic wrap. Together they fit it over the dough. When they were finished, Cas touched Dean’s arm and met his eyes.

It was easy then to persuade Dean into a hug. All Cas had to do was spread his arms and Dean was fitting himself between them with a sigh, almost relieved. 

Dean’s exhaustion was evident by the way he poured himself into the embrace. His breaths were long and deep, heavy with tension. Under Cas’s hands, Dean’s back rose and fell in waves, and Cas was happy to be his anchor.

Cas would have been content to stay like that for two hours, but Dean drew back after a long minute. His eyes were fond when he looked at Cas. One hand lingered on Cas’s ribs.

“When things calm down,” Dean murmured, voice hushed velvet, “we need to talk.” There were spots of pink high in his cheeks.

“Of course,” Cas said, heart pounding. 

Dean’s eyes danced between Cas’s for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and looked away, dropping the hand on Cas’s side. “How’s lunch sound?” His voice was casual.

The moment was gone, the only trace of it left as an imprint of warmth on Cas’s side. “I’ve just tasted half of your menu, Dean,” Cas reminded him. “I don’t think I’ll be eating anything for a long time.”

Dean grinned. “But you’re coming with me, right?”

Cas was helpless. He was hopeless. He didn’t care. “Who else would remind you to eat your vegetables?”

Winchester Bakery was a hit almost immediately. 

Claire hadn’t been able to get a flight in time for the opening, but she’d helped by taking over the social media accounts from Cas, who admittedly had had trouble keeping up with concepts like “the algorithm” and “engagement.” Many customers who came in on the first day were there thanks to her.

The customers who returned after the first day, however, did so not because of Claire’s social media posts, but for two other reasons: 1) the pastries and 2) the handsome baker with green eyes.

Dean had a different view, however. 

“Dude, they barely see me,” he said when Cas voiced his thoughts after closing one night. “ _You’re_ the one out front all the time; who’s to say they ain’t thirsty for you?”

Cas had been on his feet all day. Seated at his little plastic table, he massaged a cramp in his calf. “I’m not gifted with charm, Dean. If anything, my lack of social skills are chasing customers away.”

Dean was guzzling water, leaning against the counter. He wiped his mouth and gave Cas a once-over. “You kidding? Ladies love the broody and mysterious schtick. I’d be here every day if I got to see you.”

There’d been no hesitation in Dean’s words. Cas bit down on a pleased smile. “Don’t tell me you’ve only been coming in to your own business see me.”

“Well, no, but waking up at 3AM is easier when I have a hot assistant.”

When Cas looked up at him, surprised, Dean was looking away with a nervous swallow. 

Claire and Jody flew in the next week. 

“Took a leaf out of Cas’s book and cashed in on my vacation days,” Jody said. She held up her bear claw, half-eaten. “Thanks for the freebie, boys. We’ll catch up later. You, behave.” The last word she directed to Claire, who’d taken up a station at the register. She left then, leaving Dean and Cas with her charge.

Dean started walking Claire through the basics of the register. He was only about halfway through when she interrupted him, looking between Dean and Cas with amusement.

“So you guys really haven’t eloped yet?” she asked, almost incredulously. “We took bets on it at home.”

Cas had been wiping the display case of fingerprints. He met Dean’s eyes—wide, taken aback—then looked away, mortified. He felt a flush creeping up his neck.

“Seriously,” Claire continued, “The sexual tension is appalling.”

“Didn’t Jody tell you to behave?” Dean demanded.

Claire held up her hands. “I’m behaving—I’m just surprised that _you two_ are behaving.”

“Tempted to dock your pay before you even start,” Dean grumbled. He was avoiding Cas’s eyes.

Claire shrugged. She looked satisfied with herself.

A few minutes later, Dean opened the doors and greeted the customers who were waiting outside. There were fewer people coming in, now that the initial excitement around opening had died, but those who did come in were buying larger orders, assured of the quality from their first visit.

A pair of young ladies in the shop purchased a dozen donuts. As they were leaving, one blinked demurely at Cas. “Are you a Winchester too?” she asked. Her hair was carefully curled, pinned back to expose a delicate ear.

Dean was next to Cas, depositing fresh donuts in the display. He straightened when he heard the question. The smile on his face was pleasant but brittle. “He’s as good as one,” he said before Cas even had a chance to open his mouth. “Have a good day, ladies.”

The pair left, biting down on giddy smiles. Dean watched as they did, his smile slipping into a frown, then wordlessly he took his empty tray into the back, leaving Cas and Claire in an otherwise empty shopfront.

Claire smirked at Cas, who was failing to hide his flustered expression. “So you’re telling me you two _aren’t_ married?”

Dean approached Cas later when Claire was out on a beef jerky run for Dean. The shop was empty, and Cas, perched on a stool waiting for customers, was struggling in his Words with Friends game against Gabriel.

“Hey,” Dean said, nudging him.

Cas shut off the display, embarrassed at the score. He looked at Dean. “Yes?”

Dean scratched his neck. “Just wanted to apologize for earlier.”

“For what?” 

“For the Winchester comment,” Dean said. “For interrupting. C’mon, you remember.”

Cas remembered, alright. He shook his head, bemused. “I don’t recall you doing anything you need to apologize for.”

“I dunno,” Dean said, looking at the door and watching the passersby who peeked through the glass. “Maybe you wanted to talk to those women or something.”

It was a sweet concept, but Dean should have known better. “That’s hilarious,” Cas deadpanned.

“Just sayin’, man,” Dean said, “I don’t want you to think I’m stopping you from… doin’ your thing.” His grin was weak.

One day, Cas hoped, Dean would never have reason to doubt Cas’s devotion to him. “The only thing I’m interested in doing right now is selling donuts and beating Gabriel at Words with Friends,” Cas said.

Dean motioned to the phone, raising an eyebrow at Cas. “Last I could tell, he was up 75 points.”

Cas held the phone away from Dean. “I didn’t say I was good at either of those things.”

Dean held out his hand. “Is it your turn? Let’s see it."

Cas handed over his phone with a theatrical sigh. They put their heads together for the next 10 minutes coming up with Cas’s next move.

He still ended up losing, but he blamed it on the hand that Dean had kept hanging on Cas’s shoulder.

They had kissed, once. It had been at Sam’s wedding reception, both of them tucked into a dark corner where Dean had hidden a bottle of whiskey for them. It was after pouring a generous helping into Cas’s glass that Dean had looked up at Cas with a mischievous glint in his eyes—and Cas hadn’t been able to help it: overwhelmed with affection, he’d leaned in and kissed his best friend.

And after a pause, his best friend had kissed him back.

Cas had been elated, overjoyed, to feel Dean’s lips against his, Dean’s hand warm on his jaw - but Dean had ended it far too soon, pulling away with an anguished breath.

“Cas, I can’t do this right now,” he’d murmured in the scant space between their lips. “I’m sorry.”

Cas’s blood had run cold. He’d wanted to ask why, but Dean’s gaze, the furrow of his brow, the downturn of his mouth, had been begging him not to. Instead, Cas had rallied through his own hurt to reassure Dean: “I don’t regret it.”

Dean’s gaze had been pained, his voice raw when he’d said: “Neither do I, Cas.”

“But?”

“But I’m not ready.”

Cas hadn’t asked why, occupied with caressing the frown lines at the side of Dean’s mouth. “Okay,” he’d just said. “I’ll be here when you are.”

Claire’s presence brought a previously-underrepresented demographic to the bakery: teenagers and college students. They came in droves to buy something touched by her hand, and on multiple occasions, Cas had had to pass her a note that some poor student had been too shy to give to Claire themself. 

Dean wandered into the shopfront after a gaggle of them left. His expression was grumpy. He’d been vehemently against the concept of a hairnet, so he went around the kitchen in a baseball cap. On that day it was maroon. “You cannot go on a date with any of those kids,” he said to Claire.

Claire barely paid him any attention. She continued scrolling through her phone. “Dean, I’m 18. Also you’re not my guardian.”

Cas frowned at Dean. “What’s going on?”

“If she chooses one of them, the rest will be too heartbroken to come back,” Dean pointed out roughly, gesturing toward the door with a dish towel. “It’s bad for business.” 

Claire smirked at Dean. “Doesn’t stop the ladies coming by for you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because I don’t date any of them,“ Dean snapped.

Claire’s eye roll was one for the history books. “Dean, you know they think you and Cas are together, right?”

Dean’s tirade faltered. His throat bobbed. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow from the heat of the ovens. “What?”

“They think Cas quit his job to help his fiancé Dean realize his dream of opening a bakery.” Claire let the story sink in before adding smugly, “And yet they still come back.”

Cas was a little insulted. “Do they think they’re going to break up our engagement if they buy enough pastries?”

Dean was staring at him, cheeks blossoming pink. “Cas, you know we’re not engaged, right?”

“I know that,” Cas replied dryly. (And how _deeply_ he knew.) “I’m just pointing out the audacity.”

Dean scratched his brow. “You uh - you don’t got a problem with this story people made up?”

“Why would I?” Cas asked. It was close enough to the truth, and the more people who believed Dean to be unavailable, the better it was for Cas. It was selfish, but Cas couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it.

Dean’s cheeks were stained red. He seemed to be at a loss for words.

Cas was starting to get it. He chose his next words carefully. “If you’re uncomfortable with the concept of being engaged to me, however—”

“I’m not,” Dean interrupted. He looked surprised by his own words.

“Well, good,” Cas said, a little breathlessly. “I’m not either.”

They stared at each other from across the shopfront for a few long seconds. Not for the first time that day, Cas marveled at the beauty of Dean Winchester, even sweat-stained and tired, even standing there dumbfounded and looking like an idiot.

Claire made a gagging noise behind a hand. “Seriously, I’m going to tell Jody you’re exposing me to inappropriate behavior.”

Dean broke eye contact to make a face at her. 

“Anyway,” Claire said, returning to her phone. “Can I take off a few hours early today?”

“Why?” Dean asked.

“I got a date,” Claire said, a smug smile spreading across her face. 

Dean and Cas looked at each other. Cas shrugged.

“Fine,” Dean snapped. “But if I lose business because you broke the hearts of every teenager in town, I’m docking your pay.”

A month after Winchester Bakery’s opening, Dean sent a message to the group chat. It was a photo of a number - considerably large - in Dean’s handwriting, underlined twice. 

_did the math. we smashed the first month’s goal!!!_ he captioned it.

Cas was at home when he received the message, trying to relax after a long week. He’d had trouble adjusting to his previous 9-to-5 routine and had been looking forward to a good night’s sleep, though one he expected would be plagued, as per usual, with dreams of Dean.

He watched the congratulatory messages pour in on his screen - from Sam, Eileen, Bobby, Mary, Jody, Donna, all of Dean’s good friends. Even Claire sent a heart emoji.

Cas was dawdling over a reply, thumbs hovering over the screen, wondering what words could ever capture his pride, his love, his affection - when another message popped up from Dean, this time only for Cas. It was a photo of a champagne bottle sweating on the stainless steel countertops of the bakery kitchen.

_shop down the block brought me this. if you hurry i might share._

Cas looked down at his outfit. He was still in his button-down from work, but he couldn’t be bothered to change. He left his apartment a few seconds after sending Dean a thumbs-up.

15 minutes later, Cas was unlocking the front door of the bakery with the key Dean had given him. (“What, was I going to give it to Claire?” Dean had asked. “She’d record a Tiktok in the kitchen and set it on fire somehow.”) The kitchen lights were on, so Cas followed the light.

Dean was fiddling with a corkscrew at the nearest countertop. He had flour across the front of his grey T-shirt and a hand towel hanging from the back pocket of his jeans. His apron and hat were hung up by the back door, and his hair looked mussed, like he’d run a hand through it after he’d hung up his hat. 

He grinned in greeting at Cas. “Hey,” he said. He looked at Cas’s outfit, rumpled after a day at the desk. “Gotta say, I prefer you in an apron.”

Cas didn’t say he preferred it too, that he’d much rather spend his days within arm’s reach of Dean instead of in front of a computer screen, thinking about Dean. He figured it had to be pretty obvious anyhow. “Didn’t you promise me alcohol?”

Dean’s hands were beautiful, but they were clumsy with the corkscrew. “Well, if these things came with instructions, you’d have your damn alcohol.”

“They do come with instructions, Dean; you probably threw them out.” Cas took the bottle and corkscrew from Dean and nudged him away. “Go get the glasses.”

“Yeah, let me just go get the champagne glasses I store here at work,” Dean deadpanned. “Bud, we’re drinking this out of mugs like the heathens we are.”

Cas was twisting the tool into the cork. “That’s fine. I’ll drink it out of the bottle if I have to.”

“Wow, is work that bad?”

Cas spared Dean a tired look. He didn’t bother answering. The cork popped out of the bottle with a little bit of a pull. “Mugs,” he ordered.

Dean placed them on the countertop. One was from Dean’s trip to Vegas two years ago, and the other was from a Biggerson’s that went out of business last year. Cas poured a hefty helping of champagne into each one. The fizz was loud, even against the backdrop of the bakery’s running fridge.

They each took a mug. Dean faced Cas and raised his eyebrows, waiting. 

Cas never understood why Dean always sought his approval, but Cas was always glad to give it. It was easy when everything Dean did made Cas want to compose wedding vows. 

“Congratulations, Dean,” Cas murmured, knocking his mug against Dean’s. “You’ve wanted this for years, and I’ve been privileged to witness the journey.” It was something he’d failed to put into words back at his apartment, but standing in front of Dean always made things easier.

Dean’s cheeks were rosy with pleasure, even if he looked bone-tired. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Cas.” He locked eyes with Cas. “I mean that.”

They drank.

Cas looked around as he took sips from his mug, leaning his hip against the counter. The bakery was strange in the evening: cold, eerily silent, and lit up by light that reflected on the stainless steel surfaces and made Cas’s eyes hurt. It seemed like a lonely place. The only welcoming thing about it was Dean, who was making faces after every sip of his champagne.

“People like this crap?” Dean asked, picking up the bottle to squint at the label. “I can’t even _read_ this crap.”

“We can’t all have sophisticated tastes like you,” Cas said, smiling. He usually tried to keep his affection for Dean under wraps, but Cas was too tired, too happy to be in Dean’s space again. 

Dean caught Cas’s expression and paused, licking his lips. He cleared his throat and put the bottle down. “So, uh—things have been pretty good over here,” he said, business-like. “Claire’s been stepping up. Was thinking of taking Kaia on part-time, so long as they keep their hands to themselves on company time.”

Cas smiled wider. “Sounds wonderful,” he said. “And you? You’re taking care of yourself?”

Dean ran a hand over his chin. “I mean, sure am eating well,” he said, laughing a little. “Could do with a little more sleep, though. Bakery’s actually closed tomorrow so I can sleep in a little.”

“I’ll come by with breakfast,” Cas said, and even to his own ears, he sounded lovelorn. “Provided you wake up at an appropriate time for breakfast.”

Dean snorted. “I’ll probably still be up at dawn with my luck.”

“I’ll be there,” Cas promised. 

“I hope so,” Dean said. He caught Cas’s eye then looked away, caught in the act. He swallowed. “Listen, Cas, we gotta talk.”

Cas watched Dean’s face carefully. “Of course,” he said softly, scared that any other words might shatter the dream he’d walked into.

Dean licked his lips again. He took a deep breath. “You know how I feel about you,” he said haltingly.

“I do,” Cas murmured. 

“At Sam’s wedding, I uh—I told you I wasn’t ready, and you told me you’d wait for me.”

“I recall saying something along those lines,” Cas confirmed, throat tight. His eyes were starting to sting, but he refused to look away.

It was obvious by the flush of Dean’s face that he was having trouble. He kept having to pause and restart whenever he spoke. “Far be it from me to—I mean, I know what you said, but—I didn’t actually expect you to—”

Cas stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “I’m here, aren’t I?” he said. “I never left your side.”

Dean closed his eyes. The next breath he took was unsteady. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”

The next words were hard to say for Cas, but they were true: “I’ll wait longer if I have to.”

Dean shook his head. He touched the countertop with his hand. The touch was slow, almost reverent. Hesitantly, he said, “I thought that if I did this, if I got the bakery up and running, that I’d feel better about you and me.” He blinked rapidly. His throat bobbed. “I’m not sure that I do, though.”

Cas opened his mouth, brow furrowed, heart hurting not for himself but for Dean - but Dean held up a palm.

“Let me say this, Cas,” he said earnestly. He scrubbed at his nose. “I mean, when you met me I was just a dumbass mechanic who’d just gotten his GED. You were,” he motioned to Cas in his button-down and business pants. “ _This._ ”

Cas looked at his outfit. He’d taken off his tie and untucked his shirt. It was creased to kingdom come, and there was a coffee stain on his torso. “What,” he said, “Tired? Overworked?”

Dean frowned. “You were amazing. You _are_ amazing. I still can’t believe you even give me the time of day, dude, much less everything else you’ve given me.”

There was hurt blocking up Cas’s throat. “Dean, I hope I never gave you the impression that you needed to change for me,” he said, looking at the floor.

Dean’s hand was suddenly on Cas’s face, directing his gaze back at Dean. “Never,” he said. Then he gave Cas a lopsided smile. His voice, when he continued, was thick. “But I still wanted to be better. You deserved me at my best, and this,” he looked around at Winchester Bakery’s kitchen with a sigh, “this is my best. Or as good as it’s ever going to get.”

Cas put his hand over Dean’s. It took him a few seconds to find the right words past his indignation on Dean’s own behalf. When he did, his voice shook: “Dean, you deserve love even at your worst. Even if this _isn’t_ your best.”

Dean smiled sadly. “I get that. Sort of. But it’s still gonna be a while before I can wrap my head around it.”

“You are the best man I’ve ever known, Dean Winchester,” Cas said fiercely. “Bakery or not, GED or not, you are generous and kind and giving, and I am lucky to have met you. You deserve the world.”

Dean shrugged. His gaze—wide, green, a little scared—met Cas’s eyes and begged. “What if I just want you?”

Cas was overwhelmed with love; it stopped up his throat and pricked at his eyes. He couldn’t help it; he kissed his best friend.

His best friend kissed him back.

And this time, Dean didn’t pull away.

Cas didn’t know how long he spent trying to kiss away Dean’s self-doubt. He did know that by the time he got himself to stop touching Dean, the champagne bottle was sitting in a pool of condensation.

From up close Cas could see the depth of Dean’s laugh lines, the shape of his freckles, the exact colors in his eyes.

“Alright, alright, you can stop starin’,” Dean grumbled, ducking his head. His hands were latched onto Cas’s sides, thumbs rubbing circles on his ribcage.

“I’m finally allowed to,” Cas murmured, lips against Dean’s temple. “Why would I stop?”

Dean dropped his forehead onto Cas’s shoulder. His doubts were obviously still weighing on him, because after a few breaths, he said, “You shouldn’t have waited for me, Cas.”

Cas knew he’d need to be patient. Luckily he had practice. Luckily he had Dean. “I’d have missed out on this, then,” he said, running a hand over Dean’s back. “Not sure I’d give this up for anything.”

“How’d you know I’d even stick around?” Dean asked. His breath skated across Cas’s collar. It was warm in the chill of the room.

Cas hadn’t known anything besides how much he’d loved Dean. “I didn’t,” he said. “But I loved you. You made me happy. I wanted to make you happy however I could. And that meant waiting.”

Dean lifted his head; his eyes were shining with emotion. “Thank you,” he said, nudging his nose against Cas’s.

Cas kissed him, helpless in Dean’s hands. When he drew back, he said, “Just because it bears repeating: my feelings for you are unconditional. Bakery or not.”

Dean’s smile was small, but it was there. “Got it,” he said.

“Though,” Cas added, clearing his throat, “it should be said that being able to see you in an apron is very much appreciated.”

Dean paused. His grin grew slowly. He stepped even closer, though Cas hadn’t thought it possible. “You like me in an apron?” Dean asked, suppressing a laugh.

“To be fair, I like you in anything,” Cas said, and though he’d bared his soul to Dean already, he found himself blushing.

“Oh, you like me?” Dean asked, feigning surprise. 

“Maybe a little bit,” Cas said. 

“Well, you gotta do better than that. Apparently there’s a bunch of middle-aged ladies who are after me.”

“What if I told you I loved you?”

Dean’s mischievous grin grew a little bashful. He smiled at Cas’s chin. “That’ll work,” he said. Then he grew quiet. Thoughtful. He blinked once, then twice. “I love you too, Cas,” he murmured. His tone was solemn. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

 _Thank you for waiting for me_ was much better than _Sorry you had to wait for me._ Cas swore to himself at that moment that he’d never make Dean feel like he had to apologize for needing something.

They kissed again for a handful of minutes, their champagne mugs all but forgotten.

Claire visited again in December, not to work but to spend time with Kaia. Still, Dean dangled the promise of a paycheck in front of her until she agreed to help out for a few hours on the weekends.

It was the Saturday between Christmas and the new year that Cas asked her to close early.

“Why?” she asked suspiciously, looking between Dean and Cas, both in aprons. “You two need a witness for your wedding or something?”

Cas smiled a little. He looked at Dean for an answer.

Dean met his gaze and took over, scratching his chin with his right hand and trying to look casual. “Yeah. I mean, Winchester Bakery should be owned by Winchesters, right?”

Cas started tugging on Dean’s apron strings to undo the knot. He leaned in close to Dean’s ear to say, “You realize my name doesn’t magically change when I say ‘I do,’” right?”

“I’m trying to be romantic, Cas,” Dean snapped over his shoulder. 

“Well, keep trying,” Cas murmured.

Dean craned his neck to frown at Cas. “I’m not romantic?” he asked. It sounded like a genuine question.

Cas kissed Dean’s neck. “I was joking, my love.”

Claire stood up abruptly. “Fine!” she said loudly, waving them away. She opened the register to start counting the day’s profits. “Fine. Just stop being gross.”

They were in the Impala ten minutes later. It was twenty minutes after that when Claire began getting suspicious. “I know I’m not from here, but I know this isn’t the way to the courthouse.”

“Taking a detour,” Dean said. “Chillax, kid.” He was holding Cas’s hand as he drove. It was a privilege Cas still hadn’t gotten used to. 

“No one’s used ‘chillax’ in a decade, Dean,” Claire said, watching the scenery go past. “Also we’re late to your appointment. If there ever was an appointment.”

Cas bit down on a smile. Dean was outright grinning.

“Like I said: chillax,” Dean replied. He squeezed Cas’s hand.

“An unauthorized field trip?” Claire asked dryly. “You could be charged with kidnapping. You know Jody’s a sheriff, right?”

“You’re almost 19,” Dean replied. “Not really a kid to kidnap anymore.”

“That’s not the definition of kidnapping,” Cas mumbled.

“A better response would have been ‘We’re not kidnapping you, Claire,’” Claire pointed out, “y’know—instead of debating the definition of kidnapping.”

Dean was pulling up to their destination. He parked by the curb. “Fine,” he said, “We’re not kidnapping you.”

“Right,” Claire said skeptically. “You’re just bringing me to a stranger’s house on the outskirts of town.”

“Exactly. Knew you were a sharp one,” Dean said cheerfully. He got out of the car. Cas followed suit. Claire, sending wary looks at them both, got out as well.

Dean started up the path to the front door without a word. Cas graciously let Claire go first.

It was when they were on the front steps and Dean was lifting his hand to knock that Claire’s hand shot out to grab his wrist.

She held up Dean’s left hand between them. A shiny silver band shone on his ring finger. “Well, _that’s_ new,” she said, looking accusingly at Dean, then Cas. 

Cas had been trying to hide his left hand in his pocket, but Claire just glared at him and waited. She really was Jody’s kid, he thought. Sighing, he pulled his hand out of his pocket to show off a matching ring.

“These aren’t just engagement rings, are they?” Claire demanded.

Dean sighed. “Wedding rings,” he clarified.

“When?” Claire asked, scowling at them both. 

“Last week,” Cas said.

It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision after a slow morning at the bakery. They’d been staring at each other from across the kitchen, both half-lidded, both half-dozing, Cas at his table, Dean leaning against the fridge, when Dean had said, “Yknow, I dreamed of marryin’ you last night.”

Cas had just smiled at him, fond like he was of nothing else. 

“It was a nice dream,” Dean had said, a little wistfully. Then he had looked at Cas like he did whenever Cas brought him coffee in bed: lovesick, indulgent, grateful. 

Happy.

“You act like it’s impossible,” Cas had said gently. “We could conceivably get married today.”

Dean had blinked. “Should we?”

Cas hadn’t even needed time to think. “I can call the courthouse?”

Dean had already started shedding his apron. “We can close the shop for a few hours,” he’d said, then on his way to hang up his apron, he’d stopped by Cas’s table to kiss him senseless.

They had been married within three hours of that conversation. They’d bought the rings afterward, then had gone right back to work. Cas had caught Dean staring at his left hand no fewer than half a dozen times that day. He’d made sure to kiss Dean every time.

Claire was still glaring at them on the front step of the house. She hadn’t released Dean’s wrist yet. “What the fuck is in the house, then?” she demanded.

Dean looked offended. “Language,” he said.

Claire’s eyebrows rose, almost in challenge. “Oh, you want to hear lang - “

Cas cut her off before she finished. “We wanted to thank you for your help,” he said, which effectively stopped Claire’s tirade.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her expression instantly apprehensive. Dean took his hand back.

Cas offered her a smile. “We know your birthday’s coming up, but you won’t be in town for it, so - “

Dean knocked on the door, then twisted the knob. The door opened. 

“Surprise,” Dean said grudgingly, as a chorus of excited shouts emerged from the house. Inside, Kaia had gathered a few of Claire’s friends and put up decorations. “Don’t trash our house, please.”

After a few months of negotiations, Dean and Cas had finally closed on the purchase just two days before. They hadn’t even had time to move any furniture in.

Claire’s face was red. She lingered at the door, her throat moving. She looked apprehensively at Dean and Cas. “You did this?”

There were phones out recording Claire’s reaction. Cas could tell Dean was uncomfortable, so he took Dean’s hand and squeezed. “Kaia did most of the work,” Cas said, nudging Claire into the house. “Have fun. Call if you need a ride.”

He tugged Dean away. 

“Clean up after yourselves!” Dean called over his shoulder.

They climbed into the Impala shortly after. Dean looked back at the front door, then at Cas in his passenger seat. “Good job, Mr. Winchester,” he said, as if he hadn’t just been arguing with the birthday girl a few minutes prior.

Cas took Dean’s hand, fond. In his other hand, his phone buzzed twice. Two messages from Claire lit up his screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean checking his phone as well.

_Thanks, you guys._

_Also, congrats. <3_

Dean was trying to hide a grin. He looked at Cas appraisingly, eyes sparkling. “Y’know, we never had our honeymoon.”

“You’re right,” Cas agreed. He raised an eyebrow at his husband. “But we have an order of cupcakes for that baby shower tomorrow.”

Dean hung his head. “Why do I have to be so good at cupcakes?” Sighing heavily, he started the car and pulled out into the road. He took Cas’s hand and lifted it to his mouth. He kissed Cas’s wedding band.

They went back to work hand in hand.

**Author's Note:**

> (They do get their honeymoon, of course. They take a week long holiday for Dean's birthday and drive up to the mountains where they spend all their time cuddling in bed and staring while the other one sleeps. They continue to be just as gross for forever, because that's what they both deserve.)


End file.
